Popularity
by They'reNotSandshoes
Summary: Angie runs into Clara when the Doctor's running late on Wednesday, and decides that she needs a bit of work before she can go on her 'date' with the mysterious man that shows up every week. Based on the song 'Popular' from the Broadway musical Wicked, will be a few chapters even though it's a oneshot! Please R&R!
1. Chapter One

_**Elphie, now that we're friends, I've decided to make you my new project.**_

Clara Oswald stood rather impatiently at the window next to the front door of the Maitland home, looking out of it almost frantically every few moments. It was a Wednesday, right? A look at the date on her mobile and a sigh. Yes, it was a Wednesday, but the Doctor seems to be late today. That's all right. He'll come eventually, yeah? He always does. The whole cycle of fidgeting and screen-checking and nervous sighing repeated about three times before fifteen-year-old Angie Maitland came down the stairs, stopping dead at the landing when she saw Clara.

"What on _earth _are you wearing? And—and what's with your _hair_, oh, my word, if you're going on a date _like that._" She stated with obvious disgust, looking at the brunette from head to toe as if she were a toad.

_**You really don't have to do that. **_

"It's not a _date_," Clara cut her off protestedly, however much she'd like it to be, "It's a trip. Sort of. Not really." She thought she looked perfectly fine in her worn trainers, leather jacked, and ponytail, but Angie didn't. That meant something was going to be done about it, whether Clara liked it or not. "The Doctor is just a—a close friend of mine, and—"

_**I know. That's what makes me so nice!**_

"Whatever you say Clara, you're going on a _date, _don't deny it—" Angie grinned when the young woman tried to interject, "And you're not going out with that guy with a chin that you fancy looking like _that_. Upstairs in my room. Now. You have some serious work to do, and fast, if we're going to get you acceptable-looking before your boyfriend gets here."

"Angie, I— ooh!" Clara's protest was interrupted by the time traveller being yanked halfway up the stairs, being practically dragged to Angie's room and seated in front of her mirror.

"Now," Angie looked at her a bit critically, though she erupted into giggles before her analysis was completed. "This'll be _fantastic! _The Chin'll fall even _more_ head-over-heels over you when _I'm_ through." With that, she plugged in her curling iron with a flourish and strode back over to Clara, who was suddenly feeling very uneasy and even more embarrassed.

__"Angie, you don't have to do this, I mean, really, we were only going out to 5607 to the 457th Olympic games—" the young woman cut herself off, clapping a hand over her mouth and hoping that Angie didn't hear her, caught up in her dream makeover/matchmaker land. The teen didn't seem to, and Clara let out a sigh of relief. She'd _most_ likely put up with whatever horrors Angie had in store for her, but if she found out about the truth behind her travelling companion? She'd never hear the end of it. Ever.


	2. Chapter Two

_**Whenever I see someone less fortunate than I, and, let's face it, who isn't less fortunate than I? My tender heart tends to start to bleed. **_

__Angie wheeled Clara around in her chair, causing her to now face the bed instead of the mirror. "Autumn shades or winter.." she muttered to herself, putting two eyeshadow palettes up to Clara's almost embarrassingly pale skin, a now very concentrated look on her face as she observed the young woman.

_**And when someone needs a makeover, I simply have to take over—**_

"Neither," Clara half-moaned to Angie, realizing that this was going to take much longer than she thought. The time traveller thought this was going to be a slap of blush on her cheeks and a French braid, but now she realized that she had walked into a very screaming obvious trap. A screaming obvious, beauty-infested, make-up filled trap. "Can't I just go out without all this—this awful stuff on my face?" Clara tried to protest, but Angie most certainly wasn't listening, still holding the two palettes up to her skin.

"Autumn it is," she decided to herself, drawing a tiny brush from a bag next to Clara and opening the palette. A moan escaped from the brunette as she began to apply several different shades of browns and golds that were barely distinguishable from each other. Mascara came next, complete with primer and eyelash curler, which Angie had to attempt a few times before Clara would even agree to hold it.

"Oh, shut it, Clara," Angie said, closing the palette with a _snap_, "You're going to look knockout. I promise." Then she began humming some stupid Broadway song that Clara had never heard of and opened another palette happily.

_**- I know. I know, exactly what they need. **_

__It wasn't eyeshadow this time, but a very powdery and dusty foundation that made the Impossible Girl sneeze whenever Angie came anywhere near her face with it. "Can we just—can we just skip this bit? Please?"

"'Course not! It's the most important part," Angie insisted, "Just hold your breath." She said impatiently, and slapped a brush-full of the stuff on Clara's face, humming the next few bars of the tune. The young woman in question began to erupt into a coughing fit as the makeup clouded around her features.

"Ooh, no; no, no, no, no, no, Angie—I've changed my mind. I'll just not go out today. Make-up is awful," Clara coughed, "Can I leave now? Please?"

_**And even in your case, though it's the toughest case I've yet to face—don't worry, I'm determined to succeed! Follow my lead! **_

"Oh, _come on_, are you that weak? You'll brave it, I promise. Stick it out at least for my sake. I know you don't wear stuff like this that often, but, please, is it _that_ bad, Clara?" Angie asked, pulling the 'you're-my-nanny-and-you're-paid-to-keep-me-happy' look as she snapped shut the foundation container and proceeded to rummage through her make-up bag.

"I—oh, oh, alright. I give in. Torture me at will," Clara surrendered, waving a mock white flag and turning back around in her chair. "Just don't do anything crazy, alright?"

'_She's absolutely hopeless'_, Angie thought to herself, sighing, '_But, if all goes well, I'll get a wolf-whistle out of the Doctor when we're through here.' _A smug smile flew across the teen's face as she began to look even faster through her bag, '_Now, where did that blush palette get off to..?_'


	3. Chapter Three

"Found it!" Angie exclaimed, thrusting a blush palette and brush into the air, resulting in a moan from Clara. "Oh, come _on_, you're going to be knockout, like I said! One look at _you_ and the Doctor'll go mad," the teen giggled, starting to dust some blush onto the Impossible Girl's cheeks, giving them a peculiar rosy glow.

_**And yes indeed, you will be..**_

"This is awful," Clara groaned, looking at herself in Angie's vanity as she did her 'work'. She did look better, the brunette did agree, but it was most certainly _not_ worth it to have five pounds' worth of powder on her face.

"'Beauty has a price,'" Angie gushed, snapping the blush shut and setting it to the side. "But, that's all the makeup for now," a sigh of relief from Clara, "But,"

"There's always a but," Clara mumbled under her breath, suddenly wondering why she was allowing herself to be controlled by a fifteen-year-old. '_You do get paid to keep her happy_,' a voice said inside the young woman's head, and she sadly had to agree.

"We have.. Other important matters," Angie grinned, walking towards the door of her bedroom with a smug look on her face.

_**POPULAR! **_

"Which is?" A raised eyebrow from Clara, resulting in a smug look and a small period of intense giggling from the teenager.

"What's your dress size?" Angie asked, looking especially victorious at Clara's protesting expression, "And I hope you can walk in heels!" she called over her shoulder, giddily taking the stairs three at a time to make it to Clara's bedroom before the nanny could protest.

"I—uhm, I actually can't!" Clara yelled up the stairs, dashing up them to stop the teen in her wishful thinking. A particular incident flashed into the Impossible Girl's mind of her wearing heels at the Andromeda Galaxy Gala in the year 5600.. She really had apologized to the High Priest of the Tibetan Monk Cassiopeia Order, but, apparently, wine doesn't wash out of pure white nebula fabric robes. Clara threw all the heels from the wardrobe into a supernova afterwards—who knows, next time she could spill wine all over the Emperor just because of her rather apparent clumsiness. "That is a _really, really bad idea!_"

_**You're gonna be POPULAR! **_

"Then why do you have these?" Angie victoriously held up a pair of particularly painful-looking pumps that made Clara wince just looking at them.

"Gifts from a friend," she mumbled, and it really was true, even if that particular friend was Marilyn Monroe and the only reason she got them was because the Doctor had them as a 'souvenir' of the eccentric singer and actress. 'Interesting woman, Marilyn,' he had mused, then shoved the shoebox into her arms happily, 'Not the good kind of interesting though. _You're _a _good_ kind of interesting though, Clara, so you should have an interesting pair of shoes too! It just makes sense,' he had said proudly, and Clara didn't think she had the heart to tell him that she was a walking disaster in this _blue_—Clara couldn't help but find it funny that the chosen shoes were blue, and she enjoyed it very much—pair of heels, and Angie Maitland was now holding them up. That meant she was going to wear them, whether she liked them or not.

_**I'll teach you the proper ploys when you talk to boys; little ways to flirt and flounce! **_

"Now, these," Angie announced, breaking Clara from her memory-induced daze, setting the blue heels on the bed. "But what dress..?"

"Whoever said anything about dresses?" Clara asked quickly, wondering what on earth she'd look like once this whole fiasco was over. She wasn't a super model, she was a _time traveller_, and blue heels didn't exactly say 'ready to run for your life' this season. Or any season, really.

_**Show you what shoes to wear, how to fix your hair-**_

"I did," Angie said smugly, turning around from Clara's closet to look at her, "And it appears we're a bit.. _limited_ on options. But, one of these'll have to do," Angie gestured to a small pile of dresses stacked on Clara's bed, much to her horror, "And then there's still a bit more to do."

_**Everything that really counts to be popular!**_

"Are you _kidding_?" Clara groaned, raising an eyebrow at the teenager.

"'Course not!"

_**I'll help you be popular! **_

"I honestly, really, truly, _do not like_ what you've done to me today," the Impossible Girl grumbled, beginning to pull on a dress.

"I never said that _you_ did," Angie replied, zipping it up and stepping back to observe her work. "But the Doctor certainly will."

_**So let's start, 'cause you've got an aw'flly long way to go..!**_


End file.
